Assuredly shot, for there was a small hole under the left eye. The bullet must have passed into the brain, killing the poor wretch instantaneously. As the match flickered out, Frank was left alone in the half-gloom beside this dead thing, trying to think how the poor wretch had come by his death. Then it dawned anew on him that his pistol was gone, that the man had been shot. Who had slain him? What revolver had been used? The first question he could not answer, but the second answered itself. Since his weapon was gone, it assuredly had been used to commit the murder.
But was it murder? What about suicide? Frank tried to argue the case. As he did so, the clock on the mantelpiece struck nine. The sudden tingle of the bell set his blood leaping. He recalled how Starth had expected Mrs. Betts and Tilly back at that hour, and making a dash for his coat, he hastily struggled into it. He must not be found here with the dead man. The row on the previous night, his foolish words, his weapon, his being alone in the house with a man with whom he was well known to be on bad terms--all these things would weave a rope to hang him. Realising his danger with a gasp, Frank lighted another match, and found cane and hat. But he had no more matches, although he desired to search for the Derringer. All he wanted now was to get away, and he hastened down the stairs in a state of agony, the perspiration standing on his brow, and his heart in his mouth.
There was no difficulty in opening the door. He closed it again, and went down the path, through the gate, and on to the road. Here a street-lamp threw a strong light. Under it stood a girl and a young man. "My, sir!" said Tilly, catching sight of his face, "you have been a time with Mr. Starth. I 'ope he ain't angered. He--"
Lancaster waited to hear no more, but walked rapidly down the lane, he knew not whither. All he wanted was to get away from the gallows, from the dead.
[CHAPTER III]
A FRIEND IN NEED
Popular prejudice regards Essex as a damp, marshy flat, inhabited by mosquitoes, rheumatic yokels, and children of the sea-mist. But Eustace Jarman dwelt on a far-extending plateau, whence from his study window he surveyed Tilbury, Gravesend, the mouth of Thames river, and vast tracts of meadow-lands divided into irregular squares by erratic hedges. His home was three miles from the nearest railway station as the crow flies, and, being cut off from civilisation, by acres of furze-grown common, was as isolated as his misanthropic soul could desire.
Jarman had the reputation of being a solitary man, and those who knew him in literary circles hinted at the destroying influences of the inevitable woman. But Eustace never explained. After a journalistic career in town he disappeared into the Essex wilds, and devoted himself to writing music-hall sketches, short tales, and articles on countries he had visited. As he had been round the world twice or thrice, and knew the manners and customs of various peoples, he was well paid for his contributions. The cost of living at Wargrove was nil, and Jarman was supposed to be saving money. At times he would vanish into the Far East, or seek South America when there was a chance of trouble between tin-pot republics, but he always returned to his Essex plateau, to live a hermit's life. Miss Cork waited on him, and looked after his simple needs, and Miss Cork mentioned frequently that he was the queerest gent she ever set eyes on.
"The Shanty," as he called his place, was an old farmhouse, buried amongst elm and oak trees, and surrounded by an orchard and a flower garden, all more or less in ruins. Jarman would not allow the place to be tidied up, as Miss Cork suggested, loving better the eccentric untrimmed look of his property. The hedges grew sprawling at their own sweet will, long grass flourished up to the very door, and poppies, sun-flowers, and straggling rose-trees showed above this miniature jungle. Eustace possessed three rooms, two of which were occupied by beds for himself and any chance friend, and a third apartment, large and airy, which served as a study, a dining-room, a smoking-room, and a parlour. In this last were collected trophies of Jarman's travels, ranging from Japanese curiosities to South Sea oddities. Books also--but these were everywhere, and overflowed from the study into the passages, into the hall, up the stairs, and in some degree into the bedrooms. Everywhere there was a scent of tobacco smoke, and Eustace loafed about in flannel bags with an old shooting jacket and a worn cricketing cap on the back of his head.
The house was not very large, and Jarman was over six feet. But he moved with a dexterity remarkable in so huge a man, and was as handy as a woman in looking after his housekeeping. Miss Cork lived at the back, and merely acted as lieutenant in carrying out her master's orders. When she wished to introduce feminine innovations Eustace protested. He loved his savage bachelor life and his hermit-crab shell too much to desire new-fangled customs. Extra civilisation, especially of the womanly kind, meant extra work, and Eustace was a lazy man.